


Prince Of Death

by Mother_North



Series: The Mayhem Series [2]
Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band), Music RPF
Genre: Character Study, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Blood, POV First Person, Psychology, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: An internal monologue of Euronymous.
Relationships: Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin/Øystein Aarseth, Euronymous/Dead
Series: The Mayhem Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849600
Kudos: 24





	Prince Of Death

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is a product of author’s imagination only.

**

**POV Euronymous**

Mirrors are deceiving. My eyes are listless and I hate staring into them. They are vacant. When I submerge myself into watching others suffer it awakens something primal in me. The world is cruel and nobody can change it. I’ve made Darkness my middle name: Øystein _Euronymous_ Aarseth.

My main goal is to be hated. Let them fear me for what I am truly _not_. Manipulation is a convenient tool, especially when it comes to those who are easily impressed. I carry the blackest of dreams in my mind, the most corrupted plots and the most perverted fantasies. The twisted side of things also happens to be the most truthful. You can fake everything and wearing black and white mask of c _orpse paint_ helps to alter your state of mind, as if you suddenly gain an ability to channel a mysterious force that is out of your control.

_A jerk._

_A poser._

_A loser._

I know I am called names behind my back. The scariest thing was when _you_ began to outshine me. A walking corpse, a blonde-haired beast, a suicidal madman...

You changed the way I perceive many things, including my very self. Your fascination with morbidity and death was genuine. Slashing a wrist open, watching crimson rivulets seeping out made you horny. Heck, it made _me_ horny.

At first it was confusing and then shameful. I hated you for making me despising myself. Chicks waited in line to fuck and I could get as many as I wanted to but the funniest thing is that I only ever wanted _you_.

_Dead._

It is a stupid nickname. So childish. It is not intimidating enough. Death can manifest in beautiful ways sometimes. When I saw you lying out there in a pool of dark coagulated blood, fragments of skull and brain matter… It is a picture I will never be able to get rid of. My hands were shaking terribly not due to a shock of discovering your corpse. My tears were streaming down my face not because of seeing you lying there lifeless, reminding a crippled mannequin in a weird manner – no.

I thought you looked _otherworldly_ , as if finally reaching a final destination you have been heading to throughout your whole conscious existence.

You took your own life away; in fact, you have sacrificed it to give birth to a myth, to a legend.

_Black fucking Metal._

“Do _it_ , Per! Do _it_ , Per!”

I used to urge you on. I didn’t seriously believe you were capable of doing _it_ but I secretly hoped that you would.

Your blue eyes are haunting me to this day. In my wicked dreams or when I walk the woods or play my black _Gibson_ , trying to come up with riffs worthy of your atmospheric lyrics.

“I’ll go to Transylvania one day, Euro!”

I laughed in your grim face, mocking your earnestness. You withdrew into your shell predictably, a rare glimpse of your human side hidden away again.

Maybe after your death you really did go to Transylvania, little fucker.

Jørn left the band because of you. It was a stab in the back. I didn’t expect him to be such a pussy. Varg replaced him quickly. It’s not a big deal but we do not talk at all. I don’t need him or _you_ or anyone, for that matter.

The album I am currently working on will change the landscape of extreme music forever. It has blood sacrifice on its altar. I sense its power in my veins. It resonates in my body cells. I came to a conclusion that in order to create something great you have to overstep the line, an invisible boundary. You have to be on the edge, being not afraid of looking into the abyss.

_You have to transcend to truly excel._

It is not about mere music-making anymore. It’s about capturing the essence of these woods, these mountains into musical notes. It penetrates your being; it streams through your consciousness, giving you a sense of immortality, a superiority that is yours to claim.

Would you refuse it, Per?

I don’t think so.

The only thing I regret is that you didn’t see _them_ burn – centuries old, wooden monuments to people’s stupidity and naivety. The sight was epic, as they were engulfed by fire, turning to a useless pile of ashes right in front of my eyes. It is better than sex. It is sheer power injected directly into your veins.

I often imagine your ghostly pale face illuminated by raging flames, features twisting, shadows dancing around you making you look fatal.

I have always wanted to ask: why _Freezing Moon_?

 _Freezing_ is such a cliché here in Norway and _moon_ is not evil enough. _Chainsaw Gutsfuck_ sounded way more badass; totally unlike _dark romance_ which replaced former brutality and gore.

I could never confess to myself that the change of concept your arrival into the band brought made _me_ change as well. The visuals of medieval castles, gothic cemeteries and vampires, blood dripping not from a knife of a maniac but from the fangs of a mysterious night creature… I accepted it, I accepted _you_ and let your creativity flourish.

And then the only kiss happened; under the northern vast sky, countless stars blinking at us from above. It wasn’t romantic. I was scared shitless because I was sure that it was simply a perverted way of yours to fuck with my mind. You were insane after all.

“Your lips are deadly cold,” I managed to stammer, dumbfounded.

Your mouth curled into a crooked smile and you laughed hysterically, tree trunks around amplifying the sound, as it echoed through the stillness of night forest.

I must have looked comical, gaping at you like a fool. I wanted to punch you so badly.

“What the fuck, Per?!”

My brain was slowly becoming cooperative again. You provided no answer, choosing to walk away instead; withdrawn and aloof like always.

We’ve never talked about this incident and acted as if nothing extraordinary occurred between us. You were avoiding staying one on one like plague and I was internally grateful for it. To be in a total denial was the only possible option.

Our relationship deteriorated, escalating into ugly fights or entering a stage of steadfast avoidance. There were days when we didn’t say a word to each other, locked up in the same house for weeks like two prisoners sentenced to loneliness and despair.

You didn’t complain but I knew you were hurting inside. I walked on tip-toes to the closed door of your room and listened attentively, forgetting how to breath. I often envisioned you hanging with a noose around your thin neck, _dead_.

Stains of dried blood used to greet me in the corridor of the house. You became addicted to getting high on pain, a shot of undiluted adrenaline making you manically excited.

Jerking off to decomposing carcasses of animals isn’t something normal people tend to do, right?

 _Sick_ was your second name, Per.

“I like looking at them dying.”

“Do you believe there’s something _after_?”

“Yes. _Blue light_. It takes you away. Forever.”

My eyes gleamed darkly.

“Don’t you want to meet _the light_ again? To just let it take you away?”

You looked up, your stare glazing over dreamily.

“Yes, yes…I think you are right. I’ll be there again one day.”

I smirked, satisfied.

There was an illusion of being in control when it came to you but you were a wild thing, unpredictable and very hard to read. I couldn’t decipher emotions written on your face at those rare times when it didn’t remind of a blank white sheet – dull icy eyes and mouth reminding of a thin line.

“I think Dead needs help,” Jørn sounded sincerely concerned.

“I don’t think so.”

I cut the conversation short at once, authoritative and immovable. I couldn’t let anyone else influence you because I considered you my personal property. No fucking shrink would ever get into your head because it is _my_ sole priority.

_Helvete_ walls are staring back at me. I like sitting here from time to time when everyone else leaves. It is my dark domain and I am the only ruler in it.

_The Prince of Death that never loved anyone except for Dead._

**


End file.
